


Facade

by cawlidgehawkey



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: A little angst, Angst, Braden is too, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Some light smut, and? Surprisingly?, braden isn't the best at talking about his feelings, but schmidty is so gone on him, he's just not good at showing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cawlidgehawkey/pseuds/cawlidgehawkey
Summary: He’s still looking at the floor who knows how long later when he sees the gray and red sneakers with a hole in the left big toe join his bare feet in his view. Gentle fingers curl under his chin, the skin rough and callused, and tip his face up.Most of the guys are gone, having put their stuff in the equipment room and headed back, probably thinking of nothing but bed. It always got rough like this towards the end of the season. Everyone was tired, worn down, injuries beginning to catch up, each game a little harder than the last, leaving them a little more drained. Braden’s face is impassive, his brown eyes empty of their usual fire.“You okay?” Nate nods numbly.“Y-Yeah. Just a rough one, that’s all.”Braden laughs, but it’s low and humorless. Nate doesn’t like that. “You’re telling me.” He doesn’t let go of Nate’s chin, and Nate is frozen, hoping that Braden will ask what Nate thinks he’s going to.





	

It was a rough, ugly game, and everyone knows it. The atmosphere in the locker room is heavy with sweat and exhaustion, everyone sitting in silence in their stalls. Even Andre isn’t smiling, just leaning against the wall undoing his skates, his head drooping down between his shoulders like it’s too heavy to hold up. Ovi and Backy are sprawled back on the bench, Ovi’s cheek resting on Nicky’s shoulder. He scored two in the third, both assisted by Nicky, and it still wasn’t enough. 

From across the room, Nate can feel Holts’ eyes burning into him. He had been planning on sitting this game out—his left hip had been bothering him the past few days—but had been put in the second period after Grubs had let in five goals and gotten himself pulled. Five. It was the fucking Devils, for Christ sakes. Not that Nate would say that to him, poor kid felt bad enough as it was. 

He almost looks up, but undoes his skates with quick, careful movements instead, feeling Braden’s gaze on the top of his head. The goalie hadn’t even taken off his pads yet, was just slumped back in his stall. To anyone else, he would have looked like the picture of exhaustion, but not to Nate. No, he could feel that gaze on him, heavy, expectant. 

Nicky finally heaves himself to his feet, holds out a hand to Ovi. “Media, Sasha” he says quietly. Ovi looks up, his expression almost pained. 

“Do we have to?” He asks, his voice low and scratchy. As it should be—he had been screaming up and down the ice the whole game. It had gotten increasingly hard to understand him as he slipped more and more into Russian. 

Instead of answering, Nicky hands Ovi his own sweatshirt, and pulls him to his feet. He clasps Ovi’s hand to his chest, like a promise, and they head towards the hall outside, where Nate knows the press will be waiting to tell Ovi that he isn’t doing enough. It fucking sucks. 

Nate sighs as quietly as he can manage, and continues on his skates. He wipes them off, slides the guards on, then sticks them in his bag. He pulls his socks down, not getting up, and shucks his shin pads off. They’re tacky with sweat, and the air in the locker room chills his overheated skin. 

He’s still looking at the floor who knows how long later when he sees the gray and red sneakers with a hole in the left big toe join his bare feet in his view. Gentle fingers curl under his chin, the skin rough and callused, and tip his face up. 

Most of the guys are gone, having put their stuff in the equipment room and headed back, probably thinking of nothing but bed. It always got rough like this towards the end of the season. Everyone was tired, worn down, injuries beginning to catch up, each game a little harder than the last, leaving them a little more drained. Braden’s face is impassive, his brown eyes empty of their usual fire. 

“You okay?” Nate nods numbly. 

“Y-Yeah. Just a rough one, that’s all.”

Braden laughs, but it’s low and humorless. Nate doesn’t like that. “You’re telling me.” He doesn’t let go of Nate’s chin, and Nate is frozen, hoping that Braden will ask what Nate thinks he’s going to. 

“Can you, uh. Would you mind. Uh. Coming home? With me?” It’s always struck Nate as a little sad, hearing Braden unsure of himself like that. He’s the best goalie in the league, the quickest Nate’s ever seen. Anything that makes Braden doubt himself is bullshit. 

“Yeah—I mean, of course.” One corner of Braden’s mouth curls up a little bit, but, like his laugh, there’s no mirth in it. He thumbs at Nate’s lower lip, then releases his chin. 

“Get the rest of your stuff together, eh? Then we’ll go.” Nate’s been here enough times to know that, though it’s phrased like a question, it’s more of an order. He licks his lips, tastes salty sweat. 

“Yeah, yeah I will.” He stands up, wobbling a little on his feet. Braden plods to the other side of the locker room and sits back down, stretching his legs out in front of himself with a tiny wince. 

Nate takes off the rest of his pads as quickly as he can, stuffing them in his bag in some semblance of order. He pulls on his sweat-stained shirt and warm-up pants on over his compression leggings, and grabs his keys, wallet, and phone, stashing them in his pockets. 

Braden is already waiting for him by the door, holding both their jackets. He helps Nate into his, then kisses his cheek softly. His lips are warm and chapped, and Nate fights back a shiver at the feel of Braden’s stubble against his skin. “Let’s go.”

The hall is empty by now, and nobody is around to see them walk too close together for just buddies, bumping hips and shoulders and elbows. Braden opens the door for him, ushers Nate to his car with a hand on Nate’s elbow. He’s nothing if not a gentleman.

Once they’re both inside the cat, Braden turns to him. “Warm enough?” When Nate nods mechanically, Braden punches the heat on anyway, pulling out of the parking lot. He doesn’t turn on the radio, which is a blessing—no need to hear the talking sports heads dissect that game, they both know it was a shitshow. 

Nate looks at Braden’s hand on the gearshift, the veins tracing the back of it, up his arm, bringing blood to his muscles and brain, the pulse thumping softly in the side of his neck. The line of Braden’s nose, normally sharp and strong, looks almost delicate in the light of passing streetlamps. 

He wants to grab Braden’s hand, maybe lace their fingers together, trace the back of Braden’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb. His hands will be dry, too—he knows Braden can’t stand the smell his glove and blocker leaves on his hands, so he washes them compulsively. 

But he doesn’t, because when Braden comes back to Nate’s place after games, kissing him quiet on Nate’s bed and undoing the buttons on his dress shirt with quick, clever fingers, he doesn’t stay the night, doesn’t leave an impression on the other side of the bed, doesn’t fuck up the covers or leave his own toothbrush at Nate’s place. And when Nate is at his house, he always leaves quickly, because he feels like he’s intruding. Like Braden doesn’t even really want him there. But then the next morning Braden is at his apartment door with a cup of coffee and a crooked smile and everything continues into the same easy but confusing rhythm. 

They sit together on the plane, and sometimes Braden’s thigh moves to rest against Nate’s, warm through his sweatpants. Sometimes he takes one of Nate’s earbuds, commandeering his iPod. And sometimes he steals bites off Nate’s breakfast plate at the hotel. But none of that screams commitment, none of that gives Nate any right to want anything from him, no claim, no right. Something feels different tonight, though. 

He sucks in a breath when he realizes that Braden has stopped the car and is speaking to him.

“Sorry, what?” 

“I said, we’re here. Come on in, I’ll make some coffee.” And then Nate is following him into the house, toeing off his shoes and trailing Braden to the kitchen. 

“You can use the shower, if you want.” Braden looks pointedly at the stairs leading up to the bathroom, and Nate nods quickly. He turns to go when Braden stops him with a hand on his chest. He kisses Nate's cheek again. 

“You want anything to eat?” Nate shakes his head. “Okay. Hurry back.” 

Nate walks up the stairs, feeling Braden’s eyes on his back as he goes. He’s too tired to move at anything more than a fast stumble. 

The bathroom is all silver steel and black marble, large and cold. There’s a fluffy white towel hanging up next to another one that’s obviously been used already, and Nate thinks dimly that Braden was expecting him here.

The hot water feels so good on his sore, fatigued muscles, and Nate takes his time, grabbing one of the bottles from the shelf and drowning in the Braden-scented steam. He shuts the water off after a while, then climbs out and towels off. There’s a big, fresh bruise on his shoulder from the boards, and he rubs at it absentmindedly. He wraps the towel around his waist and picks up his sweat-soaked clothes. 

When he opens the bathroom door, he sees a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on the carpet. Too tired to even be embarrassed, Nate pulls them on, hangs the towel up, and pads down the stairs, following the wedge of light that’s coming from the living room. 

Braden is sitting on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest, cradling a steaming mug. He looks soft and rumpled, his hood up and his feet tucked into the bottoms of his sweatpants. There are a few locks of his hair—it’s getting longer—draped over his forehead and poking out from the hood. 

There’s another mug on the table, and Nate is glad for the warmth in his hands as he joins Braden on the couch. He expects Braden to turn the TV on, but he doesn’t. He just takes a sip from his mug. Nate copies him, but makes a surprised noise and peers down into the mug.

“This isn’t coffee.” 

Braden peers at him. “It’s hot cocoa. You’ve never had it?” 

“No, I just—thought it would be coffee.” Braden snorts and takes another sip. 

“I’ll probably need coffee, you know? For my drive home?” Braden doesn’t say anything. Nate just sighs into his mug. The cocoa is rich and chocolaty—it’s delicious, and he can tell Braden used milk instead of water.

They sit in silence for while, until Braden sets his mug down. “You know, I was thinking the other day. The winters in my hometown are sort of like this season.” The confusion must show in Nate’s face, because Braden laughs lowly and takes another sip of his cocoa. 

“The summers in Lloydminster are really short, actually. It seems like most of the year is winter. Doesn’t snow all that much, but you can always tell it’s winter.” Nate snorts. He’s from Minnesota, and Braden is complaining about winter? That’s nothing compared to a winter in his hometown. 

Braden shakes his head. “No, hear me out. It’s a long winter. It’s cold, and dry, and miserable. But every so often, there’s a day where the cold lets up. It feels like it’s almost spring again. And then…”

“And then?” Nate realizes that his body language is mirroring Braden’s. He’s sitting, knees to chest, his chin buried in the neckline of his t-shirt. Braden’s t-shirt.

“Then, the next day, it’s back to the same.” Braden takes a meditative swallow of his drink. He’s quiet for a long moment. For lack of anything else to do, Nate drains his mug. 

“It’s like that winter with you, Nate.” Nate freezes. Braden is looking at his own knees. 

“Wh-what do you mean.” It comes out flatter than Nate means it to, more of a statement than a question. 

“I think it’s easy, what we have. Then I think about asking you to stay, and everything gets so much more complicated. You smile at me and follow me home, and God, Nate, do I love your smiles.” Braden huffs out a laugh. “How happy you are when you kiss, that little sigh when you scoot closer to me at dinner, how much happier I am with you……”

Nate moves his feet onto the floor. “Doesn’t have to be complicated, Braden.”

There’s a furrow between Braden’s thick, finely arched brows, and he sighs. 

“I guess….I guess I’m asking you to stay.” 

Nate’s eyes pop open wide, but he manages to school his face into a more controlled expression before Braden looks up at him. He looks sad, defeated almost, and Nate feels something in his stomach pull tight. 

“All you had to do is ask, Braden. You want me to stay, I’ll stay for as long as you’ll let me.” Braden sags in on himself a little, and Nate feels the knot in his stomach migrate upwards to his throat. He scoots closer to Braden on the couch. “I’ll stay.” He repeats. 

Braden’s eyelashes are dark and feathery against his cheekbones, casting little shadows in the low light. Nate takes a deep breath, then reaches forward and plucks Braden’s hand up off the couch cushions and into his own. He clasps his other hand around Braden’s as well, running his thumb over Braden’s knuckles.

Braden lets out a deep breath that he didn’t seem to know he was holding, and nods. “Thank you.” It’s almost too quiet for Nate to hear, almost a sigh. 

He stands up, Braden’s hand still in both of his. “Bed?”

Braden peers up at him. “Come on, Braden, I know you’re as tired as I am. We have an off day tomorrow, we should try to catch up on sleep.” Braden grunts and heaves himself to his feet, tugging his hand out of Nate’s. Nate is about to protest when Braden picks up both their empty mugs from the table, giving Nate a crooked smile before padding into the kitchen and out of Nate’s sight. Nate hears water running, and then the light clicks off. Braden reappears, wiping his hands on the side of his sweats. He reaches out, slides a hand around Nate’s lower back. His other hand comes up to grasp Nate’s chin, tugging him close. Nate can feel Braden’s breath on his lips. 

Braden kisses him, light and chaste, then hugs him tightly. Nate relaxes against him. His body is warm and solid, and his arms around Nate feel as close to home as he can get.

After what feels like only seconds, Braden pulls away. “Okay. Now bed.” He keeps his hand on Nate’s lower back, ushers him up the stairs. 

*****************  
The next morning, Nate wakes up when the late morning light from the bedroom windows finally comes through at just the right angle to hit him smack in the face. Braden is leaned against the headboard, reading a book. 

Nate stretches lazily, wiggling one arm out from under the covers. “G’morning.” He mumbles.

Braden sets his book aside, facedown and spine away, like he doesn’t want Nate to see the title. “Morning.” He pushes his hair back from his forehead. It’s sticking up at weird angles, and Nate instinctually reaches up to smooth it down. 

Braden smiles at him. “Thanks.” Nate feels his face flood with warmth and he moves his hand back. Braden catches his hand and kisses his palm. That just makes Nate even redder, and he giggles self-consciously. 

“Whatcha readin’?” Now Braden is the one who pinks up, and he pushes the book even farther away. It’s adorable, and Nate feels his embarrassed smile melt away. Before Braden can react, Nate reaches across him, and by the time Braden grabs Nate’s shoulder he’s already turned the book over. 

“THE LAST SONG???????” Nate stares at Braden, his eyes wide. 

“Shut up” Braden grumbles, shoving at Nate’s shoulder and snatching the book back. But it’s too late; Nate can feel the laughter bubbling up in his stomach, and he knows his cheeks are puffing out like a chipmunk’s trying to keep it all in. Braden Holtby, big bad goalie, reading a Nicholas Sparks novel? Unreal. 

“I can’t—I can’t fucking believe you, oh my God…” The rest is lost in another bout of giggles, and Nate leans back against the pillows, his hands over his face. He can barely breathe. The thought of Braden sitting up at night, reading a sappy romance novel and wiping away a single tear under his very distinguished reading glasses sets him off again, and he’s pretty much wheezing now. 

“Wait till I tell the guys—“ But Nate doesn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence, because suddenly Braden is hovering over him, his weight heavy and crushing. His eyes are alight again, the fire missing from them last night back in spades. 

“You will not,” Braden grabs one of Nate’s wrists, pinning it over his head, “be telling any of the guys about this,” he bends his head to nip at Nate’s jaw, “ever.” He’s somehow wiggled his way between Nate’s legs, making room for himself between Nate’s thighs. Nate closes his eyes against the blush that spreads across his face and lets out a very unmanly squeak when Braden sucks at his jaw again, with a hint of teeth this time. 

“Braden,” he breathes out. Braden pulls back and looks at him. Nate’s not laughing now, and Braden leans closer. 

“Promise you won’t tell?” There’s a hint of a smirk at one corner of Braden’s mouth, and when Nate struggles half-heartedly against him, he pins Nate’s other wrist. “Not letting you up until you promise.” When Nate says nothing, Braden releases his wrists, peering at Nate under his eyelashes as he slides his hands under Nate’s shirt. Nate shivers when Braden’s calloused hands slide over his abs, over his chest, rucking his shirt up. He just waits there, his hands still on the pillows over his head, and closes his eyes. 

He can feel Braden’s breath on his skin, and he gasps when he feels Braden’s mouth fasten on his right nipple. One hand goes to Braden’s hair, sliding around the back of his neck. Braden huffs out a laugh through his nose, and reaches up to pinch sharply on the other one. Nate squirms, his mouth falling open and hand tightening in Braden’s hair. Braden moves his mouth to Nate’s other nipple, and he looks up at Nate, his smirk full-blown now. He presses a kiss to Nate’s chest, then scoots up so that he’s squarely between Nate’s legs. 

Nate’s breathing quickens as Braden thumbs at his lower lip, and he can feel that Braden is into this too, even though it’s obvious that Nate is the easier of the two of them. He uses his hand wound into Braden’s hair to pull him closer and kiss him deeply, sighing into it as he feels Braden’s hand trace lightly over his jaw. Braden nips at his lower lip, coaxing them open, and Nate moves his legs up so that they’re clasped securely around Braden’s waist. 

Braden moves his mouth away, releasing his lower lip, and Nate’s about to start whining and demand that Braden put his mouth back where it belongs when Braden noses at Nate’s jaw, pushing his face to the side and brushing his lips across the pulse that Nate is pretty sure Braden can feel hammering against his mouth. He lets out a shaky breath and tucks his chin into Braden’s shoulder, his hand fastening on the back of Braden’s shirt. He can feel the muscles of Braden’s back shifting under the fabric when Braden makes a dissatisfied noise, turning Nate’s chin back to the side with one big hand and returning his attention to Nate’s collarbone. 

Nate tugs weakly at Braden’s shirt. “Take this off,” he mumbles. Braden pauses, pulling away just enough so that he can tug his shirt off over his head. Nate wiggles the rest of the way out of his own shirt, and he smiles shyly up at Braden before tugging him back down again, warm skin against warm skin. He whines high in his throat against Braden’s lips when Braden fastens a hand around his hip under the covers, squeezing lightly. Braden moves closer so that his weight is balanced on one arm, pulling Nate’s thighs up more securely around his waist with his other hand. Nate can feel the steady beat of Braden’s heart where Braden’s chest is against his own. 

He tips his head back, exposing more of his neck, and Braden takes the bait, lacing his fingers with Nate’s and moving slowly up back towards his lips. His hips press down onto Nate’s insistently, and Nate can feel him, warm and familiar through the two layers of clothing separating them.

“Mmm…” Nate sighs, and he can feel Braden smile against his skin. He smooths his hands up Braden’s back, fingers catching in the grooves and divots of the muscle and bone. 

Braden pulls back, and his smirk has turned into something softer, warmer. He squeezes Nate’s hip, hooks his thumb into the waistband of Nate’s sleep sweats. Nate’s hips move up a little, chasing the contact. 

“Come back,” he implores softly, tugging on Braden’s hair. But Braden resists, smiling down at him.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this, Schmidty, you know that?” Nate blushes more under the praise, feeling it spread down his chest.

“I, I, uh. I like being like this,” Nate squirms a little under Braden’s weight. “For you.”

Braden’s eyes are molten as he curls his hand around Nate’s jaw, pulling him close and kissing him again. Nate lets Braden pull his sweats down his legs, kicking out of them when the bunched-up fabric reaches his shins. Braden grins against his lips, and he wiggles a hand between them, tugging at his own sweats. Nate follows him, tugging at Braden’s boxers just enough so that his dick springs free.

Braden grunts against his lips when Nate wraps his hand around him, moving his hand up Braden’s length. Nate allows himself a small smile and presses his lips against the side of Braden’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Braden mutters against his neck when Nate moves his hand again, and he tugs at Nate’s boxers until he can get his hand around Nate. Nate swears and rocks into his hand, tugging at Braden’s boxers until he gets the hint and kicks them all the way off. 

Then Braden is tugging at Nate’s boxers, making a satisfied noise deep in his throat when Nate helps him pull them down. Nate kisses him again, tugging him closer and clenching his thighs tight around Braden’s hips. He can feel Braden stiffening against his thigh, and he grinds back against him, trying to get this show on the road, already. 

Braden pulls back. “Do you want to, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck. Nate nods and kisses him firmly. 

“Please,” he breathes when Braden pulls away. He folds his hands behind his head when Braden reaches over him into the top drawer of his bedside table, extracting a bottle of lube and a condom. 

He takes his time with prep, his eyes focused on every expression that crosses Nate’s face, the way his fingers clench tight around Braden’s biceps with every movement of his hands. He smiles hungrily when Nate gasps loudly and tips his head back, crooking his fingers up further and watching Nate shiver as sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine, kissing him again and pulling his fingers back. He pulls back to roll the condom on and slick himself up, but his eyes stay on Nate’s the whole time, hungry, searching. 

“Oh, fuck,” Nate moans when Braden pushes in. He bottoms out, hips flush against Nate, and kisses him bitingly, his hands rough on Nate’s skin and his breath ragged in Nate’s ear. He hugs Braden tightly to him, making it so Braden can only roll his hips a little, but it’s enough. When Braden wraps a hand around Nate’s length, pressing his thumb into Nate’s slit. He gives him two smooth strokes and Nate is coming between their stomachs, Braden’s mouth on his neck. 

It’s only a few thrusts later that Braden is coming too, growling a curse into Nate’s neck and pressing in deep. Nate sighs when Braden goes still against him, stroking his hand down Braden’s back. 

Braden shivers, and Nate’s about to move his hand when Braden mumbles “Don’t. Feels nice.”

Nate tugs at his hair, laughing when Braden thumps him in the thigh with his half-closed fist. Braden looks up at him, his chin on Nate’s chest. His hair is all fucked up, and he’s not smirking, he’s smiling, big and sure. Nate smiles back at him, leaning forward and kissing his forehead softly. 

Braden sighs, getting up reluctantly and going to clean up and dispose of the condom. Nate flops back against the pillows with a contented smile. 

Braden pauses in the doorway, grinning crookedly at him. “C’mon, Schmidty.”

Nate pouts, reaching out towards him. “I think I wanna stay in bed.”

“Come on, babe. I’ll make you breakfast.” When Nate doesn’t say anything, Braden reaches a hand out, raising one eyebrow. 

Nate holds his pout, considering. Finally, he takes Braden’s hand. He lets Braden pull him up, grabs his sweats from the floor. When they get over to the door, Nate grabs Braden’s face and kisses him again, nice and deep.

“Glad you asked me to stay?”

Braden smiles again. Nate likes that look on him. “Absolutely.”


End file.
